


Walk Before You Can Run

by totalizzyness



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 03:30:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totalizzyness/pseuds/totalizzyness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bond only remembered things in morphine and pain induced dribs and drabs, scarcely remembering the burning pain of the bullet piercing the flesh of his leg, embedding itself in his femur. He was sure he remembered hearing the worried voice of Q calling him a “stupid bastard” and a cold, clammy hand curling tightly around his own.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk Before You Can Run

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the wonderful [Sarah](http://marvel-at-something-new.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this chapter, and hopefully the rest of the chapters to come; all remaining mistakes are my own.

Bond only remembered things in morphine and pain induced dribs and drabs, scarcely remembering the burning pain of the bullet piercing the flesh of his leg, embedding itself in his femur. There was a hazy blur of people shouting and his vision blacking out. He recalled strange faces looming over him talking in Hausa. Bright lights and the faint smell of bleach and anaesthetic. He remembered the pain in his leg getting worse before it got better until it was reduced to a dull ache. He remembered thinking of only one person during his incapacitation; whether they’d been told he was MIA or if they’d presumed him dead. He wondered how the news was being handled. If he knew Q at all, he would be working himself to death trying to locate Bond and get him home safe. Bond wondered if he was ever going to see jolly old England again, see the man he loved, see the exasperated look on his face when he scared the life out of one of the Q-branch minions.  
  
He drifted in and out of consciousness, losing track of time. He could have been there for mere hours, or days, or even weeks. He didn’t know where “there” was. He remembered the pain in his leg suddenly worsening, the voices around him getting panicked.  
  
He didn’t remember an MI6 SWAT team barging into the makeshift hospital he was stuck in, didn’t remember being moved onto a plane bound for England. Bond was sure he remembered hearing the worried voice of Q calling him a “stupid bastard” and a cold, clammy hand curling tightly around his own.  
  
When he finally did wake from his drug induced haze, no one was by his bedside, and his leg was a single throbbing ache. The cardiograph beeped steadily beside him and the room was bright white, reeking of disinfectant. He tried his best to sit himself up but found his arms surprisingly weak -- as if he’d been sleeping on them funny. Annoyed he was unable to even sit himself up, Bond ripped the wires from his body, sending the beeping machines into a frenzy. Several seconds later two nurses and Miss Moneypenny ran into the room, all visibly deflating when they saw he was fine.  
  
“Nice of you to rejoin us,” Eve said, smiling sadly. One of the nurses helped prop Bond up against his pillows so he was sitting, the other fussing and taking his vitals.  
  
“How long have I been out?”  
  
“Two weeks, approximately,” Eve answered, reaching for the beaker of water on the bedside table, pressing it into Bond’s hand. “Q went into freak-out mode when he found out you’d dropped off the grid. Refused to sleep until he had you found.  
  
“Where is he now?”  
  
“Q? At headquarters, he’s still got to work. He should be dropping by at 6... Are you not going to ask what happened? The damage?”  
  
Bond shrugged, finally shooing away the nurses. “It doesn’t matter. I trust the mission was completed and I’ll be fine.”  
  
Eve’s lips thinned; she gingerly sat herself down in one of the hospital chairs. “Yes the mission was successful, but... Your leg, Bond. You sustained a lot of damage when the bullet tore through some muscle, nerves and lodged itself into your femur. Add that to the shoddy work done by the Nigerian medics... They did more damage removing the bullet than the initial injury. By the time we got to you it was too late. You have irreparable nerve and muscular damage. You’ll have a permanent limp, you’ll be in constant pain unless you take medication and even then you’ll still feel it... You’ve been grounded, Bond. Permanently relieved from field duty.”  
  
Bond stared down at his leg blankly, barely able to digest the news, hoping it was an elaborate prank by 003 or a bad dream. Eve merely sighed.  
  
“I’m sorry, Bond. But you’ve had your day -- and you’ve lasted much longer than the average agent. You went down fighting...” Eve paused, “M says there’s a desk job waiting, if you want it.”  
  
Bond nodded tersely, saying nothing, waiting for Moneypenny to leave. She eventually did, giving Bond’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze as she shuffled from the room. His mind raced, his hands, still weak, grappled at the bedsheets, flinging them off his legs and hiking up his hospital gown so he could get a look at his injury.  
  
It was still bandaged but he could make out a noticeable dip in his leg. The injury still ached, though it was dull. He carefully prodded at the bandaged wound, to see if he could measure the extent of the damage. He bit back a hiss of pain as his fingers probed, mentally taking in the circumference and depth of the damage, trying to wrap his head around the fact he had a hole in his leg, that a whole chunk of his body was gone.  
  
His mind wandered to what he was going to do. Even if he could somehow train himself back up to his former glory, there was no way M would let him back in the field, and he couldn’t pin all his hopes on Q coming up with something to fix his leg.  
  
He worried about Q; he’d seen his quartermaster in full panic mode before; it wasn’t a pretty sight. He had panic attacks, he wouldn’t eat or sleep, he barely even drank his tea. He would sit at his desk, eyes trained on the screen for hours upon hours until he completed his mission. And for days afterwards he’d be horribly ill; he’d be sick and terribly weak or else he’d sleep for days, only waking to throw up or eat whatever food Bond shoved in front of him. He wondered who’d looked after Q this time round, if anyone even had.  
  
He remembered Q had been off duty when he got shot; he’d been taking one of his few and far between naps in the breakroom. He remembered he’d ordered him to, that he was no use to him half-asleep, and that he’d promised not to die in his absence. He also remembered warning Q in the early days that he was lousy at keeping promises.  
  
He tried to picture how things had played out at HQ. Who had run to Q’s bedside and told him Bond was down? How had Q taken the news? How many minions had he screamed at? How many times did someone try to pry him away from the computers?  
  
Bond decided he would take the desk job; though an MI6 pension was certainly enough to live on, he didn’t quite fancy missing out on the action. And he knew he’d miss it. He’d miss the people and the banter. He’d miss walking to work with Q in the mornings, miss slipping down into Q-branch to surprise him with food,  or prying him away from the keyboard when it was time to go home. There was no living a normal life after the all the things he’d done.  
  
Time passed torturously slowly as Bond lay in his hospital bed. A nurse or doctor would occasionally pop into his room to check how he was doing, bring him food and drink, and explain the extent of his condition.  
  
Q eventually showed his face, meekly stepping into Bond’s room, staying put by the door as he trained his eyes on Bond’s leg. Bond smiled sadly, holding out his hand.  
  
“Q.”  
  
Q let out a quiet whimper, suddenly he was at Bond’s side, clamping his hands around Bond’s and pulling it up to rub against the side of his face. “James...”  
  
Bond reached out with his other hand, pulling his lover closer. He could feel the stubble of Q’s cheek grate against the skin on the back of his hand, Q having obviously forgone his morning shave.  
  
Q let himself be pulled onto the bed beside Bond, curling up against his side, resting his ear over Bond’s heart.  
  
“I was so scared, James, I didn’t want to lose you. It was all my fault. You’ve never come that close whilst under my care. I shouldn’t have gone to sleep, you needed me-”  
  
Bond hushed Q, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Nothing is your fault, Q. Don’t you dare blame yourself, don’t you fucking dare.”  
  
“But now you’re... invalided. You sustained so much damage and it could have been prevented. I just... I haven’t slept for days. I mean, I eventually slept when I got the call saying you’d been recovered, but I’ve been awake since... Worrying... taking care of things... I don’t think I’ve ever indirectly killed so many people before...”  
  
“I hope you weren’t avenging me.”  
  
“Of course I was. I couldn’t go on knowing they’d done... that to you, and knowing that they were still living.”  
  
“Q-”  
  
“No, James. It’s done, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”  
  
Bond sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of Q’s head. “It doesn’t change anything.”  
  
“Are you saying you wouldn’t do the same for me?”  
  
“Of course not. I’d individually kill every one of whoever did you harm, slowly, and painfully, making sure they knew who’d they’d wrongfully messed with before they died.”  
  
Q let out a watery chuckle, burying his face into Bond’s chest. “That’s possibly the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”  
  
“I’m here now, Q. I’m fine.”  
  
“But you’re not fine. You’re the opposite in fact.”  
  
“I’m alive, that’s all that matters.”  
  
Q sighed, long and slow as he tried to burrow closer to Bond, his arms encircled his waist, holding onto him as tight as he could. Bond managed a weak smile, giving his lover another gentle squeeze before pressing soft kisses to the top of his head.  
  
They lay in silence, listening to the other breathe, keeping a cautious feel over pulse points, too buzzed with adrenaline to truly relax. Bond let out a quiet sigh, remembering how he and Q used to curl up at home in a similar way; Bond lounged against the soft pillows of their bed, usually in just his pyjama pants, Q curled up over him, their legs tucked together and Q’s arms wrapped around his waist. Curling up with Q had been such a relaxing endeavour; there was never any emergency to rush off to, no codes that needed to be written or terrorists that needed to be shot. He and Q could waste almost hours with their bodies moulded together, forgetting about the world.  
  
But now Bond could feel how tense his young lover was, how his entire body shuddered with adrenaline and fear, and how his eyes were trained on his leg wound. He knew Q would never carelessly throw himself at him again, too afraid of hurting him, doubtful as to whether Bond would even be able to catch him at all.  
  
Q sniffed loudly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his cardigan before raising his head to look at Bond. “I have present for you, by the way. It’s back at the labs being perfected, but...”  
  
Bond smiled, carding his fingers through Q’s messy hair. “Can you tell me what it is or do I have to wait and see?”  
  
“Well... it’s a cane. You will be issued one by the hospital, but they’re so... ghastly, I know you wouldn’t approve. And you could always find one that’d suit you but I took the initiative and decided to... make you one myself. I know you rather well so I know your tastes... and it’s got some... well, things and... I suppose it’s just been something to keep my mind occupied. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to, but... I made you one.”  
  
Still smiling, Bond cupped Q’s face between his hands, forcing his watery eyes to meet his own. “Of course I’ll use it. As you say, hospital ones are so horrible... and these additions...”  
  
Q finally managed a smile. “At the moment it’s just a concealed blade but... I’m trying to add other things. There’s not really much you can do with a length of wood.”  
  
“Well, you’re a genius, you’ll figure something out.”  
  
Q nodded and lay his head back down on Bond’s chest, letting his eyes close, listening to Bond’s heart-beat thump steadily in his chest. Bond kept his arms around Q, holding him against his chest, ready to tell any nurse who tried to make Q leave to piss off. He finally had Q back in his arms and he wasn’t about to let him go any time soon, especially in his obviously fragile state.  
  
Bond listened to the generic hospital noises around him as time passed, listened to the hushed conversations of doctors and nurses outside his room, listened to the quiet snuffling of Q as he occasionally let himself get overwhelmed and tried to hold back tears. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard a sadder sound in his life.  
  
Q eventually drifted off to sleep, his breathing finally calming to a steady rate, his sad sniffling replaced by quiet half-aborted coughs. Bond finally let out a long sigh, his eyelids fluttering shut as he once again tried to get a handle on his changed situation. He couldn’t picture himself hobbling about, needing the assistance of a cane, he couldn’t see himself doing the same, dull desk-job for the rest of his days. He waited for the silver lining to present itself, wondering if it ever would. He knew he’d have to undergo weeks of physical therapy; he’d probably need crutches for a while. Q would have to look after him for a while after being discharged, and Bond hated being a burden. He wondered if this would be Q’s breaking point; he was young, smart, and sexy, he’d have no trouble finding another partner who wasn’t as old, worn, and now useless as Bond. Q didn’t need to be helping a disabled old work-dog in and out of the bath.  
  
Letting out another more wistful sigh, Bond tightened his grip around his lover, relishing his presence whilst he still could, thinking about how to handle Q boxing up all his belongings and leaving. It slowly began to dawn on him how lonely he was; his life seemed to begin and end with Q. He didn’t have anyone else in his life who’d offer him a bed to sleep on, or take time out of their busy schedule to help him.  
  
His eyes began stinging with tears threatening to fall. Blinking them away, Bond gave Q a soft squeeze, burying his face into his unkempt hair, Q stirred, snuggling closer, mumbling “James” softly under his breath. Bond huffed out a sad sigh, forcing all of the negative thoughts away in an attempt to get some decent sleep whilst he could.  
  


\--

  
Bond wasn’t released from the hospital for a long while despite his obvious improvement. Doctors ran test after test after test, sending three different physical therapists and two psychologists to assess him. He finally stood on his feet on his fifth day conscious; crutches under both arms, a strong looking male nurse and physical therapist #2 poised ready to catch him if he fell. It was horribly painful moving his leg into an upright position, his hands flying to the wound in an attempt to smother the pain. He almost crumbled to the floor when he momentarily forgot himself and shifted weight onto his injured leg. He could only describe it as burning hot needles shooting up his femur, his skin trying to rip itself apart in protest.  
  
The next day Q was there to help him hobble around his room, keeping a surprisingly steady hold of his right arm.  
  
“Please don’t fall. There’s no way I’ll be able to catch you.”  
  
Bond chuckled, pushing himself over to the wall to lean against it. “Then perhaps you could throw yourself beneath me, give me something soft to land on.”  
  
Q smiled, taking Bond’s left crutch and fitting himself under his arm inside. “I don’t think so, James. I can’t begin to calculate how many of my bones you could possibly break.”  
  
“Are you calling me fat?”  
  
“Of course not! Pudgy, maybe.”  
  
“Pudgy?!”  
  
“You’ve been gorging yourself on that delicious hospital food.”  
  
Bond grinned, pulling Q closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Fuck you.”  
  
“The doctor said no sex for six weeks. Minimum.”  
  
“I do believe that is the worst thing to come out of all of this.”  
  
“Really, James?”  
  
“Really,” Bond chuckled, manhandling Q around to press a messy kiss on his lips. Q huffed loudly, folding his arms over his chest.  
  
“It’s nice to see your personality remains intact.”  
  
“Some things just can’t be changed. Nor should they be.”  
  
Q hummed his disagreement. “Debatable... Shall we get you back to the bed? Is your leg hurting?”  
  
“Just aching a little. Stop fussing over me, Q.”  
  
“No, don’t be an idiot. I’m not going to leave you to deal with this yourself. How much of a prick do you think I am? And come on then, before you topple over.”  
  
Bond smiled as Q shoved the crutch back under his arm and began helping him over to the bed. “So you’re not planning on leaving me?”  
  
“Of course not! I love you, James, it’ll take more than a permanent limp to get rid of me.”  
  
“What if it all gets too much for you?”  
  
Q frowned as he helped Bond sit at the head of the bed, balancing the crutches against the mattress. “I didn’t spend weeks overcoming my guilt just to walk out on you... I’ve already had my big freak-out about you being too much for me to handle when we first got into this relationship... I daresay you’ll probably be more manageable now.”  
  
Bond frowned, his fingers curling around Q’s thin wrist, pressing softly against his pulse. “Thank you?”


End file.
